February is not the only month in the year that tempts me to give a token and walk away instead of giving myself and sticking around to help in meaningful ways.
So I try to keep Jesus’ words before my eyes:
For the greatest love of all is a love that sacrifices all. And this great love is demonstrated when a person sacrifices his life for his friends.
~John 15:13 TPT
I try to focus on love in action instead of only love in words.
Read the rest here: Real Love or a Paper Stand In?
It will be eight (!) years on April 12th.
And yet those first hours and days are some of the most vivid in my memory. Who showed up, what they did, what they said (or graciously and wisely DIDN’T say), how fragile and lost I felt as precious friends guided me through so. many. decisions.
I will never, ever forget the kindnesses shown to our family during that time. I will never, ever stop thanking God for the brave souls that entered into our world of pain and simply refused to be shooed or frightened away.
❤ Melanie
The death of any loved one opens a door and forces you to pass through.
You cannot procrastinate, cannot refuse, cannot ignore or pretend it away.
Suddenly, you find yourself where you absolutely do not want to be.
And there is no going back.
Many bereaved parents describe the first hours, the first days after losing a child as a fog–we feel both horrified (I can’t believe this is happening!) and numb (Is this real? Am I dreaming?).
Read the rest here: Loving Well in the First Days After Loss
The human heart is a funny thing-always working hard to protect itself from grievous injury yet prone to exactly what it tries to prevent.
I honestly believe that one of the gifts of early grief is disbelief. Because if I could have understood at once what it meant that Dominic was really, truly GONE, I would have never lasted the first 24 hours.
Even now, going on eight years, my head plays games with my heart.
Read the rest here: Just Yesterday and Forever
It’s funny how child loss has, at the same time, made me more yielding and more steadfast.
I give in without a moment’s hesitation to other people’s choice in where to go for lunch, what to do for birthdays, how to arrange this or that at church. My brain simply doesn’t have the capacity any more to argue over trifles.
But I will stand up to a lion for the sake of love or to protect a hurting heart.
Read the rest here: How To Be Fierce Without Being Fractious
This was not my experience-all my children were adults when Dominic ran ahead to Heaven-but so many grieving parents want to know: Should I let my younger children see me cry?
How much is too much for them to witness, process and hear?
Do I need to shield them from the awful truth of how much this hurts? CAN I shield them?
It depends.
Read the rest here: Should I Let My Young Children See Me Cry?
So much of this battle has been fought in my mind.
Really, even more than in my heart.
Because you can’t argue with sad or shock or missing or disappointment.
But you can absolutely argue with hopelessness (there is nothing to live for), apathy (there is nothing to do) and distrust (there is no one who can help me).
Read the rest here: Thoughts Matter
Every parent has regrets.
We were too busy or we were not busy enough. We spoke harshly when we should have withheld judgement. We insisted on “good behavior” when our child was simply being curious and doing what all active children do.
The difference between most parents and bereaved parents is this: As long as there is breath, there is hope for forgiveness, for mending fences, for saying, “Hey, remember when” followed by an apology and understanding.
When your child is out of reach there’s no chance of making amends or even having a conversation.
So I’m left alone to work through any regrets I have.
I am forced to play both roles and make assumptions about what Dominic may or may not have understood at the time. I have to hope without confirmation that he would forgive me for the moments when I was less than the mom I wish I had been.
Most days I rest in the truth that no matter what, Dominic knew he was loved.
In fact, I try hard to imagine that even in the last second of his life-before he met Jesus-he may have been focused on my mother love and that if I could have been there I would have been.
But there are cold days and cloudy days and days when I feel oh, so inadequate and all the regrets come knocking at the door of my heart.
Those are hard.
So although I rarely play the “if you only knew” card with friends and family I will say this: Tell the people you love what you need to tell them. Let them hear you say aloud how much they mean to you.
Savor ordinary moments because that’s what life is made of.
There’s no regret in that. ❤
I’m passionate about getting Scripture right.
Because it’s not just unfortunate when we get it wrong, it can be downright dangerous.
The phrase “God will not give you more than you can handle” is simply not in the Bible and we need to stop tossing it at hurting hearts as if it is.
❤
You know, I don’t expect those outside the Body of Christ to have good theology-that’s like expecting me to be able to explain thermodynamics.
Ain’t gonna happen-it’s outside my scope of understanding and practice.
I do expect those who have spent a lifetime reading Scripture, studying Sunday School lessons and listening to sermons to know better.
But many don’t.
Read the rest here: Exploding the Myth: God Doesn’t Give You More Than You Can Handle
Sometimes sadness is sanity. Tears are the reasonable response. Quickness to shush, shame or fix them, can reveal resistance to wisdom.
Zack Eswine
It wasn’t until I suffered the unbearable that I realized how very true this is: Sometimes sadness IS sanity.
Deep grief is the price we pay for great love.
But it’s easy to mosey through most of a life before you’re forced to come face to face with this truth.
Tears are an appropriate and proportional response to loss. Despair is a reasonable reaction to tragic and sudden death. Horror is perfectly understandable when disease ravages the body and steals the soul of someone you love.
So often those who haven’t experienced it want those of us who have to hold the knowledge close like a secret in hopes they won’t have to acknowledge it is true.
But sooner or later death visits all of us.
And when we choose to stand with those who have, through no fault of their own and without giving permission to the universe, been thrust head first into the unrelenting reality of loss, we not only encourage them, we enrich ourselves.
Life is a tenuous and fragile gift.
The quicker we understand and embrace that the wiser and more compassionate we will be.
It may seem odd to catalog things I’ve learned and am still learning as a result of child loss.
But it’s one way to take stock of where I started and how far I’ve come.
It’s also a reminder that some things are only learned through lived experience no matter how well another heart may describe the or yearn to share them.
❤ Melanie
The way things are supposed to be isn’t always the way things are.
I can experience joy and sorrow in the same breath.
The capacity to love and extend grace is enlarged by suffering if I submit to it and don’t fight it.
Never, never, NEVER underestimate the power of presence or texts or the random, “thinking of you” card.
Read the rest here: Things I’m Learning
thelifeididntchoose 